


Spencer story #1

by fictionalaspect



Series: Unfinished, Abandoned, Snippets, Bits and Pieces [10]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fae & Fairies, Fairies with Beards, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cabin-era Spencer turns into a fairy. With a beard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spencer story #1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I just write random scenes just because.

Spencer woke up sneezing.

Early morning light spilled out from the window, and at first Spencer thought—through sneezes—that that must be the reason. He had vague memories of closing them before he'd stumbled into bed not four hours previous, but he'd also had a lot to drink. Spencer kicked the covers away from his feet and stumbled to the window, tugging the fabric closed and plunging the room into semi-darkness.

It helped, for a moment. And then he sneezed again.

Spencer rubbed at his nose in frustration, trying to breathe deeply and slowly. His eyelids felt gummy, stuck together with the particular grime that only came from a night of moderately heavy drinking. Spencer closed his eyes, breathed in, and then let out a long, careful breath. He opened one eye afterwards, slowly, so as not to jinx it.

Then he looked down at his hands.

They were covered with a fine sheen of iridescent glitter; Spencer frowned and rubbed them together, wondering what on earth they had gotten up to last night. He wondered if he needed to find all the cameras in the cabin and erase their memory cards—there were some things the internet didn't need to see—and he was still pondering his plan of attack when he looked over at the bed.

Now that he was awake, he could see the thin layer of glitter that had settled over everything, a faint shimmer that rested on the tangled sheets and blankets. Spencer scratched his bread and watched in astonishment as a slow cloud of glitter drifted down.

Then he rolled his eyes, walked over to the far wall and banged on it. He knew exactly who to blame for this one.

Behind the wall, there was a yelp, and then a thump, as though someone had gracelessly slid to the floor. Spencer leaned in and banged on the exact spot where Ryan's headboard was, just to make sure. He waited until he could hear the uneven slap of feet against the floorboards outside his door, and then pulled it open.

"You're doing my fucking laundry," Spencer said. "Seriously. All over my fucking bed, dude?"

Ryan yawned, and scrubbed a hand over his face. " 'th fuck are you talking about," he mumbled. "What, did you have a wet dream again or something? I told you, it's normal—"

"You're such a dick," Spencer said, and tugged Ryan into his room. He pointed at the bed, just to make sure. "Tell me that's not your fault. At least try to make it believable, and maybe I won't hit you."

Ryan frowned. "What the fuck did you do to your bed?" he said. "Is that my old stage makeup? Shit, Spencer, that stuff's expensive."

"It was like that when I woke up!" Spencer said, throwing up his hands. "I sneezed like, eighty-seven times. Come on. Just admit it. You guys were drunk and you thought it would be funny—"

"—but it's not very funny," Ryan said, confused. "It's not a very good joke."

"Yes, I realize that," Spencer said.

Ryan walked over to the bed, trailing his fingers over the covers. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and then peered at them. "I don't even own anything like this," he said, finally. He held up his hands, so Spencer could see how the glitter was so fine as to be almost insubstantial. It changed color in the light, taking on hues of green and orange and purple as Ryan shifted his hands. "This is some special effects-quality-shit," Ryan said. "I don't even know where you could buy this, seriously. I mean, it's kind of awesome. But I don't know how we'd be able to afford it."

"You're not helping," Spencer said, and then sighed. He turned away for a moment, scratching at his back. God, that shit had gotten everywhere. It felt like it had dried out his skin. He scratched between his shoulderblades and his skin felt sort of crackily and tight, like old paper. "You really didn't do it?" Spencer said, over his shoulder. Man, his back was itchy. He sighed in relief when he felt Ryan put a hand on his back, anticipating twice as much scratching for the effort. Ryan was just touching him lightly, though, and Spencer growled a little bit. "Come on, it itches—" Spencer said, just as Ryan said quietly, "Spencer, take off your shirt."

"I—what?" Spencer said, turning around to face Ryan. "Why?"

"Just—" Ryan said, and then he swallowed. "Something's weird," Ryan said, carefully. "And I want to make sure I'm actually seeing what I think I'm seeing and I'm not just still drunk, or high, or whatever. Because if I'm hallucinating, we have a bigger problem than how all that shit got in your bed."

"I—okay," Spencer said. "Shit, did you hit your head when you fell out of bed? Crap, if you have a concussion you should be lying down—"

"I didn't fall out of bed," Ryan said. "I slid. On purpose. Rather fast."

"Still," Spencer said, all confusion about the mysterious glitter forgotten. "Maybe you should sit down, we'll call someone—"

"Spencer, just take off your shirt," Ryan said firmly. Spencer quirked an eyebrow at him, but pulled it off. It wasn't the strangest request he'd ever had from Ryan. "Feel better?" Spencer said, and scratched a hand across his chest. Seriously, his skin, what the hell. "Is it still there? Are you seeing double?"

"Turn around," Ryan said quietly. Spencer shrugged, and did as Ryan asked, trying to remember how to tell if someone had a concussion. It was something about blurred vision and dilated pupils and not letting the person fall asleep, but it was all sort of vague and hazy in his memory.

"Um," Ryan said, and then he was tugging on Spencer's hand, dragging him into Ryan's room, which had the only-full length mirror outside of the two bathrooms. He shoved Spencer in front of it and hissed, "Tell me I'm not crazy. Tell me you see that."

Spencer stared at himself in the mirror.

He twitched his shoulderblade—once—and the things moved with it.

He was abruptly certain that he was going to be sick.

"You're not crazy," Spencer said, trying to control his breathing. Hyperventilating was bad. Yes. "You're not crazy, and I think I'm going to throw up, and if you don't want that to happen we need to go smoke _right now_."

"Yeah," Ryan said, nodding. His eyes were wide. "Yeah."


End file.
